A Hole In The Universe Part 15

Sighing, Lisa stared at her husband. Gordon returned the milk to the refrigerator, then looked out the back door. The children were hanging from the lowest branch.

"Dad never went anywhere. G.o.d, I used to hate coming here, see him sitting there in front of the television with the blinds closed."

"Dennis!" Lisa pleaded.

"You've got to grow, you've got to do things, Gord. You can't just be be here." here."

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are! Tell me one thing you've done since you've been home, one place you've gone." Tell me one thing you've done since you've been home, one place you've gone."

The condos with Jilly Cross, though he knew better than to say it. He stared into his coffee. Dennis had no idea. The simplest things seemed so difficult, like picking up the phone to call Delores and ask how she was doing. He wanted to, knew he should, but by the time he had considered every possible scenario-whether she might be busy or embarra.s.sed or think he was interfering-all his resolve would be gone.

"Dennis just wants you to be happy. We both do." Lisa patted his hand.

"I want you to have a life, Gordo. That's all," Dennis said with a jab at his forearm.

After they left he went outside and picked up twigs the children had broken from the tree. Their footprints were deep in the newly seeded patch of lawn by the fence. The watering can had been knocked over, and the garage door was open. He closed it but couldn't find the key. They weren't very well behaved children. Dennis was too quick-tempered, and Lisa was too easy on them.

He was getting ready for work when the phone rang. It was Delores, inviting him out to dinner tonight.

"It's last minute and I know you're probably busy, but I figured I might as well try," she said.

"Oh. Well, I have to work. In fact, I'm getting ready now, but I-"

"That's all right," she said quickly. "I should've called earlier. I'll let you go, then."

He paused, his entire body tensing with the effort to force out the words. "Well, I was just going to say I get off at seven. Is that too late?"

"No! Not at all! Seven's perfect. That's a good time. A really good time. Where do you want to go?"

"Well, I'm not sure." He couldn't remember. That place Jilly had mentioned. "I can't think. It's something about bricks. Yellow bricks." He'd show Dennis that his life was more than the Nash Street Market.

Poor Gordon, Delores kept thinking through dinner. It was all new. Everything. He had been so self-conscious and stiff giving his order that the waitress began talking to him as if he were r.e.t.a.r.ded. Watching him replace his water goblet at the point of his knife, Delores wondered if he thought it had to be exactly where the busboy had placed it. He kept glancing around as if to make sure everything he did was in accordance with other diners. She should have suggested something less formal. He had been quite talkative during the fifty-five-minute drive here, but as soon as he stepped into the candlelit foyer he fell silent. His conversation since then came in hushed tones of wonder. Delores kept thinking through dinner. It was all new. Everything. He had been so self-conscious and stiff giving his order that the waitress began talking to him as if he were r.e.t.a.r.ded. Watching him replace his water goblet at the point of his knife, Delores wondered if he thought it had to be exactly where the busboy had placed it. He kept glancing around as if to make sure everything he did was in accordance with other diners. She should have suggested something less formal. He had been quite talkative during the fifty-five-minute drive here, but as soon as he stepped into the candlelit foyer he fell silent. His conversation since then came in hushed tones of wonder.

"That was the most interesting salad I ever ate," he whispered as the waitress took their plates away. He glanced around. "What were those little black beads?"

"Caviar."

He smiled. "Really? Huh. Imagine that! I just ate caviar," he said so softly she had to lean forward to hear him.

"I thought you saw it on the menu."

"It was making me too nervous. I didn't really read it. That's why I ordered the same as you."

"Don't be nervous. Most of these people are probably here for the first time."

He looked around more slowly now, moving only his eyes. "How do you know?"

"It's not the kind of place you come to every week."

"It's not?"

"No, it's more of a special occasion kind of place."

"Oh." Looking vaguely troubled, he nodded.

She began to tell him about Cheryl Smick's surprise party here for her fiftieth birthday. Delores had planned everything, the jazz band, party hats in lavender, Cheryl's favorite color, and the favors, gold and silver heart-shaped frames containing Cheryl's picture.

"I thought you said you'd never been here before," he whispered.

"I didn't go to the party. I just helped Albert, that's all. There were so many things to do. Like the guest list, the invitations. And the menu. Albert's no good with details. It was a surprise, so all the RSVPs had to come into the store, of course. It was almost like planning a wedding, which I also did, by the way, for my baby sister, Babbie. You probably don't remember Babbie, though, do you?" The wine was light on her tongue. Her cheeks felt flushed. "She would have been just a little kid then when we knew each other."

"No, I don't remember her."

"Babbie lives in Dearborn. She has two girls. They're so adorable. Her husband's in software. Dwayne, he makes all kinds of money. And I love him, but he is the cheapest man I have ever met. Whenever my sister buys clothes she has to lie and say they're from me." Delores could feel herself talking with the same reckless extravagance as Babbie's shopping, the dizzying spree of confidences spent with full knowledge of the inevitable regret. Disloyalty was the greatest sin, yet intimacy continually demanded it of her. He asked about the sisters he remembered, Karen and Linda. They were finis.h.i.+ng their racks of lamb when she realized she was still answering him. Stopping abruptly, she apologized. Here she was going on and on about herself while he just sat there being so polite.

"No, I'm really interested. There's so much catching up to do. Everything's so changed." The neighborhood, for example; Ronnie Feaster and his crew hanging out every day now on Mrs. Jukas's porch.

"Ronnie Feaster!" she said. "He's horrible. Absolutely despicable. Albert caught him selling drugs once in the alley behind the store. He told him to leave or else he was calling the police, and that very night someone broke into the store and trashed the place. But worst of all, you know what they left on Albert's desk?" She leaned forward. "A pile of-oh, I shouldn't say it while we're eating, but you know what I mean. It had to be the worst thing anyone ever did to Albert. He's very finicky. Poor man, he can't even stand the sound of someone blowing their nose. Turns his stomach. Some people are just so sensitive. It's the same thing with being hot or cold. Or pain. It's got to be something in the nerve endings. He just feels things so much more intensely than the average person."

"Then how could he just fire you like that if he's so sensitive?" Gordon asked.

"Because," she began, relieved now as the busboy arrived to clear their plates. Because she had been too strong a force buffeting his delicate nature. Because her every offering had to be momentous, the biggest and best. Because her generosity frightened people, made them wonder what she wanted in return. "Because he had no other choice," she explained after the busboy left.

"But he's the boss. He should be able to find a place for you."

"Well, I guess he couldn't," she said, teary-eyed.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel bad."

Touched by his concern, she nodded. The blurred dining room with its flickering candles and myriad conversations seemed to flow into a low, dark thrum. She loved eating out. It was such a sensual atmosphere, feeding off everyone else's hunger until her belly ached with it. When was the last time he'd had a woman? If ever. My G.o.d, what would his first time be like? Stop it, When was the last time he'd had a woman? If ever. My G.o.d, what would his first time be like? Stop it, she thought, even now hearing her mother tell some aunt, neighbor, total stranger, she thought, even now hearing her mother tell some aunt, neighbor, total stranger, I've never seen such an appet.i.te. She's the only one of all the girls. I've never seen such an appet.i.te. She's the only one of all the girls.

Before Delores could stop her, the waitress had handed the bill to Gordon, his brow knit, lips moving, as he stared at it. She asked him for it. After all, she was the one who had asked him out.

"I'll pay for it." He took a deep breath, then began counting out twenty-dollar bills onto the pewter bill tray. She removed his money and replaced it with her credit card. He tried to argue, but she absolutely insisted. Next time would be his treat, she allowed with breezy confidence as he followed her into the lobby, where a few couples sat on plump, tapestry-covered sofas, drinking brandy from cut-gla.s.s snifters. She waited by the door while Gordon went into the men's room. She was reading a framed poem on the wall, "Ode to a Demanding Diner." In the gla.s.s reflection she noticed a handsome couple coming down the stairs. They paused on the landing, laughing and leaning into each other. The young woman was a tiny blonde in a short red silk dress. The tanned man in the canary yellow blazer was Dennis Loomis. He and the woman waited arm in arm by the lectern for the maitre d' to lead them into the dining room. The men's room door opened, and Gordon was walking toward them. They spoke at once, the woman joining in as if she knew Gordon. The maitre d' appeared, and Dennis gestured irritably for the woman to go on ahead into the dining room. He and Gordon stepped aside in the shadowed hallway. Dennis did all the talking.

For once she kept quiet. Gordon stared out the window as she drove.

"I can't believe he'd do that to Lisa," he finally said.

"Maybe it's not even what you think it is."

"He was mad. Mad that I caught them together. It was so obvious."

"But you don't know for sure. Maybe she's just an old friend or something."

"She's twenty-five years old."

"He told you that?"

"No. I know her. She's a real estate agent. Jilly Cross. The one who showed me the condos. I can't believe it," he said again.

She drove slowly into Collerton. Seeing s.e.xy Dennis and his clingy little girlfriend, along with the wine and the nearness of Gordon in the dark, rolling car, made her ache. She wanted to reach over and touch him. She pulled up in front of his house, trying to think of a way to invite herself inside.

"Well, thank you. And I'm sorry it had to end this way," he said.

"What way?" she asked, alarmed.

"Well, seeing Dennis like that. I mean, it's so disappointing. I never expected anything like that. Never in a million years." He looked sick.

"Sometimes things like that happen. They just happen whether people want them to or not."

"Lisa's such a good person. She's his wife. The mother of his children. I thought they loved each other." He sounded so sad.

"I'm sure they do."

"How can he if he's doing that? Because then everything's a lie. Everything!"

"But he's still your brother, right? No matter what he does, no matter what happens, right?" She touched his arm, leaving her hand there. "Right?" she whispered, turning in the seat. His hair was starting to recede. He had the softest blue eyes, especially now with so much hurt in them.

He nodded. "I just can't believe he'd do something like that."

"Don't worry." She squeezed his arm. "She's just some dippy little thing. He's not going to leave his family for someone like that. Dennis is like you. He's got character, he wants stability in his life. Everything's going to be fine."

"I don't know, maybe it can't be."

"Oh, Gordon. Don't say that. You're going to have a wonderful life. Everything's just so new right now, that's all."

Across the way, a girl bounded down the tenement steps. She ran in front of the car and leaned down at Gordon's window. "Guess what happened," she said breathlessly. "Some guy tried to break into your house, but Thurman told Feaster, and him and Polie pulled him off your back porch. Polie beat the s.h.i.+t out of him." Her eyes glowed with excitement as Gordon scrambled from the car toward his house. Delores and the girl followed him inside. "I seen you here before," the girl said to her as Gordon turned on the lights. All the windows and doors were locked. "Yeah, right after he moved in," the girl continued as Gordon returned to the living room. Everything seemed to be in order, but he had to check upstairs to be sure. Delores introduced herself as an old friend of Gordon's. "That's cool," the girl said. "He's a really nice guy. But not too many people come here. I can see right out my window there. That's where I live. Right there." She lifted the blinds and pointed.

"What's your name?" Delores asked, fascinated and repelled by the rawness her full wet mouth seemed to convey.

"Jada Fossum, nice to meet you," she said with a sure, hard grip. "Hey, Gordon," she called as he came downstairs. "Next time you go out I'll bring Leonardo over. He can guard the house for you." She flopped onto the couch. "He's a wicked good watchdog."

"He is?" Delores said, and like Gordon remained standing, looking down at the sprawled girl.

"Christ, all he does is bark." She laughed. When neither one replied, she sat forward. "Oh, you're probably on a date, right?" She gave a lewd, crooked grin. "And you're waiting for me to go, right?" She jumped up.

"Thank you, Jada. And thank you, too, Delores. It was good getting out," he said, leading them to the door.

Delores found herself on the sidewalk with Jada Fossum while room by room the lights went out inside Gordon's little house. A dog was barking from somewhere across the street.

"I like him. He's so nice," Jada said, batting mosquitoes away from her fuzzy curls that shone under the streetlight.

"Yes, he is, isn't he."

"Everybody's scared of him, but I'm not."

"Why are they scared?"

"He killed somebody once. A girl and a baby. You didn't know that?"

"I guess I just forget sometimes."

"Jesus, how can you forget that? My mother's wicked scared of him. I'm not even supposed to be over here."

"Gordon would never hurt you." She opened her car door. "But you better get home. You don't want to get in trouble with your mother."

"I'm always in trouble with her!" the girl said, laughing. As she crossed the street, the barking grew frantic.

CHAPTER 11.

June had already told Thurman that the aisles didn't need sweeping, but he ignored her. Headphones on, he swept his indolent way through the store. His grandmother might have made him come back to work, but she couldn't make him like it. When Gordon thanked him for preventing a break-in Sat.u.r.day night, his sour shrug made clear that he hadn't done it to help Gordon. He had yet to do one thing June or Serena had asked. Gordon tried to avoid him as best he could. The boy was a powder keg, aching to be set off.

The store was empty. It had been raining since early morning, and only a few desperate customers had braved the downpour. He didn't like days like this-too slow, too much time to think. The plate gla.s.s rattled with the sudden boom of thunder. He pressed in another floor tile. Seeing Dennis with Jilly the other night had thrown everything off-kilter. It was vital that the few people in his life stay the same, to be who he needed them to be. He felt betrayed. And foolish. He thought he had been moving ahead but now saw how stuck he was. He wouldn't even answer the phone anymore. If it was Dennis, he didn't know what to say, and if it was Delores, she would want to talk about it and he couldn't.

He had replaced almost all of the cracked tiles by the front doors. Working had always been the best therapy. He sat back on his heels. A few more to go. Little by little, one step at a time, that's all it took to make things look better. These black and gray tiles matched the rest of the floor. Last week, he had found them down in the cellar in a soot-covered box. When he showed Neil, he was told not to bother, the new owner would probably gut the place and start over. But then after Neil's letdown this morning, Gordon had taken to his knees, sc.r.a.ping and gluing. Maybe the next potential buyer wouldn't be so quick to write the place off. His lower back ached, and the cuts in his hands stung from the acrid glue. He felt a little light-headed, and his stomach was growling. He hadn't even stopped for lunch. His enthusiasm for these projects seemed to irritate Neil. It was the same reaction Dennis had whenever Gordon mentioned repairs around the house, the bra.s.s hooks he had screwed over the sink for dish towels instead of hanging them on the oven door the way his mother used to, the stops he had glued in their old maple bureau to make the drawers line up evenly, the s.h.i.+ms he had painstakingly shaved from the handle of an old paint stirrer and then wedged under the hinges so that the coat-closet door would finally latch shut. Dennis had given him that same look in the lobby the other night, as if he still didn't get it, did he. Get what, though? That nothing was worth anything anymore? Not even people? Get what, though? That nothing was worth anything anymore? Not even people?

June and Serena were concerned about Neil. After two days of almost giddy happiness, he was curled up on his cot now in a migrainous fog, clutching a bottle of Fiorinal. The Realtor's very first client had wanted to buy the Market. He was an intense young black man in a pale-blue suit that glowed under the fluorescent lights. He drove a silver Mercedes and owned two other grocery stores, in Haverhill and Lowell. His goal was a chain of stores catering to the ethnic makeup of their particular locales. He had returned last night with his accountant to look at the books. This morning the Realtor called to say the accountant had declared the books rigged and the store a financial sinkhole. The only way to make a go of the business would be to double its size, and no bank was going to make that kind of investment in this part of the city.

"That guy, the accountant, he's from Dearborn. I mean, what the h.e.l.l does he know about a place like this?" Serena said.

"All he needs to know." June sighed as she popped open a Diet c.o.ke. "Where the h.e.l.l's Thurman? Three times now I told him to bring the carts in."

"Yeah, there's only one left."

"I'll go get them," Gordon called as he brushed glue on the back of the last tile. "I'm almost done."

"No. You've got enough to do," Serena said.

"Yeah, that's Thurman's job," June said.

"I know, but I feel a little funny," he said as he stood up. He needed some fresh air.

"Then go home! To get some rest, I mean," June added uneasily.

"I know. I can barely keep my eyes open." Serena yawned.